Stranger
by CircadianLily
Summary: There's a certain decadence with pulling a stranger into bed and forgetting it the next morning. Words are no longer necessary, the acquisition becomes more thrilling than the chase. They were both after one thing and they were set on indulging themselves. USUK. One night stand.


A/N: I haven't posted stories in a very long time and after going through my files, I noticed that this one had been lying dormant for a while. Its publication is long overdue. I have a handful of other stories in this fandom that I should probably brush the dust off of and flesh out. So, here's to testing the waters. ;) For now, this will remain a oneshot, but if there's enough interest, I may post more.

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Arthur drained the cheap Bacardi. His expression growing hard with the steady burn as eyes wandered across the small university town bar. A local band sporting juvenile fashions and stage makeup played their droning songs, glazed eyes suggesting that they were half-plastered themselves. Arthur ignored them along with the group of obnoxious university students pouring in for the late night show, the ambiance currently created to look like an old-fashioned speakeasy. The air was warm and heavy with the crowd.

His frown deepened as the bottom of his glass was revealed. Moving the tumbler away, his index finger tapped sluggishly into the worn wood of the table. The lightness of his back pocket wallet matched cruelly with his unsatisfied sobriety. Of course he wouldn't have enough money to get properly pissed. Not when he was receiving more rejections than paychecks in the mail. What a fantastic waste of a university degree.

And now he had to make do with what he had because he sure as hell didn't have the means to go back. His parents had already disowned him for what they termed as his 'disgusting lifestyle,' though he still received a letter from them every once in a while reminding him of their open arms whenever he did figure out just how fucked up he really was.

A soft sound of dry amusement escaped. The corners of his mouth lifted briefly at the thought. Perhaps that double shot of Bacardi wasn't as much of a waste of his precious food money as he thought. There were days he'd rather starve than be sober.

A wave of laughter rose from the group of university boys huddled in the back, visually groping the blonde behind the bar table every time she reached for the various liquors.

Arthur sighed, barely audible, grabbing his coat to leave before more students further contaminated the haunt. As he shifted in his chair to stand, a glass filled with an orange mixed drink was set before him.

Unimpressed eyes followed the arm and connected with a blue gaze, bright behind frames, matched with blond tousled hair. A small rush of that Bacardi from before warmed Arthur's face. The boy looked young. And judging by the school pullover he wore, he was also in university—probably from the group still eyeing the curvaceous bartender.

"You look like you could use something to drink," the boy said. Because more alcohol was the obvious cure for everything.

Arthur raised a brow. The blond had his own drink in hand. Though the boy seemed confident, Arthur could detect the luster of nerves behind the casual smile. Easing back into his seat, Arthur considered him for a moment. Young, attractive, probably naïve, but bold for approaching a complete stranger, he would give him that.

Sliding thin fingers around the sweating glass of the mysterious drink, he gave it a taste. It was citrusy, but the exquisite burn was familiar, the near tasteless liquor was evident. Vodka.

"I've never seen you here before," Arthur muttered after a moment.

"Eh—I'm bar hopping," the university student cast a brief glance over toward the rowdy group. "This place beats the one next door."

Arthur nearly laughed into his glass, which would have been an unfortunate result if he had. The 'place next door' he was referring to was where the older, local men went to shamelessly eye up every piece of young, fresh meat that walked through the door. It wasn't surprising that the university students of the small town avoided it. Unless they were desperate, of course.

The boy took the seat opposite of Arthur, fingers grasping at his own sweating glass. "It's uh—almost the end of the semester. Kinda explains why everyone's out drinking. Finals are coming up. Then, we all come back again in the spring," the stranger smiled as he eyed the December frost along the windowpane. "I'm Alfred by the way."

Arthur didn't say anything, only continued to taste his drink as his attention wandered; glancing only briefly at Alfred as he spoke. Alfred waited for a long, awkward minute before trying once more. "And you are—?"

"—wondering what the hell I'm going to do tonight," Arthur cut him off, eyes still measuring him.

"Well, I'm free," Alfred grinned—a little too cocky for Arthur's liking, but he had a feeling that he wasn't going to be picky tonight. No one had approached him in a long while.

Arthur made another small noise of dry amusement. "You don't even know what I want."

"I'm a quick learner," Alfred leaned a bit with his forearms on the table, growing taut with the effort. Arthur's pulse did a strange little staccato with the sight and he leaned back into his seat, considering the boy once more.

"How old are you?" Arthur swirled the ice in his drink.

"Nineteen," Alfred said.

"Really."

"Yeah, I wouldn't lie about that," he smiled that disarming smile once more. Arthur's fingers tightened against the glass as he felt his own mouth curve.

"Wouldn't you?" Arthur's grin turned sly. "Enlighten me, then, on how you were able to buy these drinks."

Alfred's mouth tightened. "How about you?"

"Twenty-two."

A brief laugh escaped Alfred. "Hey, you fresh outta university, then?"

"Does it matter?"

"Nah, not really. Honestly, I wouldn't care if you were, like, thirty."

That made Arthur cringe. "Do I look thirty?"

Alfred shrugged his shoulders, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I dunno. You just seem older… and nah, you don't look it or anything… but yeah… that probably made no sense." He chuckled.

"No," Arthur sighed before taking a long, heavy drink. "I get it."

Alfred squirmed just a bit in his seat, as if trying to find a comfortable spot. Arthur couldn't help but to feel the slightest shade of sympathy. Alfred really seemed like he was trying… so he relented.

"I'm Arthur," he said quietly, his eyes focused on imaginary patterns in the worn wood of the table before sliding up the university student's hands and forearms. They looked strong. He imagined those hands hooking beneath his thighs. Heat trapped between their bodies—the clothing too heavy, their frantic mouths too wet and starved as they touched wherever they could.

The smile that Alfred offered in return was an enthusiastic one. It was quick to dissipate into slight fidgeting once more as he looked back at Arthur, though his complacent smile was ever present.

"Hey… you wanna… do something tonight?" The blood pooled in Alfred's face as he forced the obvious question that he had been waiting to ask the moment he gave Arthur the drink, nervous fingers tightened into his palm. He looks like he's never picked up a stranger before. And with that thought, Arthur's eyes slid towards the rowdy group of university students, only turning back when he was satisfied that this wasn't some absurd prank.

A small smirk was present. "I'll have you know that your pickup line was perfectly awful. "A pause before Arthur continued, his voice dipping low, eyes now content to not stray from Alfred's, interest brightening them. "My place or yours?"

Alfred cast a mildly surprised glance back and he wiped the moisture from his palms over the top of his jeans.

Just like that, their night was sealed.

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It was difficult to keep their wandering stares from the other after that point. No more words were necessary. Arthur assumed that they were both after one thing… and they were going to indulge themselves. Savor the delectable sin of fucking an attractive stranger and forget about it the next morning.

The heavier the alcohol seeped into Arthur's system, the more quickly everything seemed to move, the brighter the colors of the winter night as they blended with what little the dirty street lights had to offer. Before he could comprehend what he was doing, their small talk dwindled into Arthur shoving his tongue down Alfred's throat. Alfred gasped a bit at the suddenness of the intrusion, looking back with a glazed expression—his eyes saturated with something that made heat bloom between Arthur's legs.

Alfred only paused once more before diving back in, their mouths reckless, each trying to take more than the other.

They soon left the heat of the bar and plunged into the winter street corner. A blast of icy air raised bumps along Arthur's skin, though the warmth remained where his mouth continued to mold and move against Alfred's. It was that wonderful friction of wetness and heat that he craved whenever his nights became lonely. He hated waking up to empty bed sheets, but it seemed that he could at least fill them tonight.

He heard the teenager's breath hitch as he detached himself. Barely coherent with the delicious pounding of his heart and the euphoric haze of alcohol and desire, he pulled Alfred to the nearest parked cab, one among many that cruised the streets outside the bars for drunken patrons.

His lips were wet from Alfred's saliva. His heart continued to pound. His body wanted—wanted so badly that he thought he might go mad from it. Then again, liquor always did make him want to jump anything that was halfway decent looking. He pulled the university boy with him into the back seat of the cab.

Arthur barely managed to tell the driver his address before he felt Alfred's mouth against his ear. Sucking along the edge before pressing into a tender spot where his shoulder met his neck. All so wet, warm, and wonderful. Arthur's toes curled at the sensation.

It felt good to be crazy once in a while. To let loose and accept the attention like the selfish bastard he was. Uncaring of the cab driver's eyes, Arthur responded by pulling Alfred's face close to his, feverishly kissing him—tasting the citrus liquor and a hint of smoke with each reckless stroke of the mouth, every nip and pull done with a vengeance, swallowing every noise that he could until he felt Alfred shiver against him.

So greedy. Greedy for all of him. For his solid warmth. For the artificial affection. One-night-stands always fed him like a desperate, starving man. Desperate for something beyond his reach.

When the cab stopped, Arthur gave the driver the rest of the money that he had left in his back pocket. It must have been enough. Probably a bit too much, judging by cab driver's smug expression, but Arthur couldn't care less at the moment. It was Alfred this time that pulled his arm, tugging him quickly onto the frost addled walkway.

Arthur took in a sharp breath of frozen air as he guided Alfred into the correct building. The moment they entered the landing; however, the boy pushed Arthur into the wall, pinning him and peppering his face and neck with an impatient mouth. Feeling the fight drain from his body, Arthur allowed the thrill of being lead. He liked it both ways. He could give and take with equal grace.

Panting slightly, he strained his head against the wall, offering skin for Alfred's lips and teeth. He wasn't disappointed. The dragging of the side of his incisors gently traced the outline of his throat before sucking devoutly at a spot above his collarbone. Arthur's face felt feverish.

Alfred slowly withdrew from his skin, sucking so hard that it almost hurt, drawing the blood from the damaged skin into a proud, glistening bruise.

Their eyes connected briefly. Alfred's wide and dark with want.

Lifting the front of Arthur's wrist, still eyeing the slightly older man, he placed his mouth over the network of his blue veined pulse point on the back of his wrist, sucking ever so gently against the thin skin, teasing the fevered throbbing that Arthur was already feeling throughout his entire body.

His mouth went dry. _Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell_… what was he doing? Then Alfred did something with his tongue against the underside of his palm that made a fierce heat trickle down his spine.

He'd discovered a new kink.

Desperate for friction, Arthur moved his free sweaty hand behind Alfred's backside, slipping his fingers into his jean pocket and squeezing, pushing his hips directly against his. He felt the deep vocal vibrations of approval against his skin, fervently rocking his hips back against Arthur's in an unsteady rhythm.

Before long, they were rutting together, fucking with their clothes on. It was silent aside from the rough shoves against the wall and occasional scratchy gulps of air. Sweat shone along Arthur's brow and the back of his neck despite the fact that the flat complex's landing had no heating and it was the middle of December.

"We need to—" Arthur swallowed, trying to gather enough restraint to form actual words, "—go upstairs."

Alfred grunted. For a moment, Arthur thought that he wouldn't comply, but he soon after felt the alleviation of pressure from his body. Taking command of the situation once more, his fingers dug into Alfred's jacket, practically dragging the man up the stairs until they reached the right hall. Decades-old wallpaper was peeling around the pinewood doorframes and the sweet waft of marijuana and dirt forever clung to the shabby, grey hallway runner.

Arthur managed to unlock his door with shaking fingers before he was eagerly pushed through. Instead of being pressed against a random piece of wall, like Alfred probably intended to, they tumbled awkwardly through the doorway and onto the floor. Alfred's weight against him was unforgiving. Arthur groaned in pain, the bulge in his trousers softening.

"Fucking idiot," the Englishman muttered, trying his bloody hardest not to sound harsh, as he still very much wanted to get to the actual shagging part of their one night stand.

In return, he felt the trembling of laughter from the body still sprawled on his back. Arthur cringed. Drunken laughter was the worst. And he hadn't had nearly enough alcohol to tolerate it.

Arthur jostled the larger man off of him before kicking the door shut. They barely got to their feet before desperate lips connected once again. Shoes were toed off and they fumbled clumsily in the dark entryway, clothing peeling away from frantic bodies.

Alfred was pushed into the mattress. Arthur was nude first and he took his time with removing the rest of Alfred's clothing, his eyes lingering over each inch of newly revealed skin, as if memorizing it. His fingers were agonizingly slow as they explored his skin, over every plane of muscle and across the train of fine hairs from his navel and below.

Alfred was impatient, but his twitching fingers managed to remain still. By the time the fabric came loose, he kicked away his pants before Arthur straddled him. He ground into him, rubbing against each other. Alfred shuddered and pulled Arthur down on top of him, touching as much of his flushed skin to his as possible. A low groan escaped his throat at the feeling and Arthur silently agreed as he moved his body up and down with sensual slowness against his temporary bedmate. He, too, loved the sensation of skin against skin.

Arthur felt a calloused hand caress his jaw before pulling him into another kiss. It was slower than their previous kisses as they swallowed each other's pleasured sounds. Arthur pulled back first, leaving open mouthed kisses down Alfred's jaw to his throat and down the middle of his chest, using a little bit of tongue and teeth to occasionally bite, leaving behind red marks.

Anyone Arthur had ever fucked wore similar patterned marks the day after. This one would be no exception.

Alfred had a beautiful body; there was no denying that. Arthur's eyes roamed across the trained torso, the hard rosy nipples, and followed down the little, blonde line of curly hair from his naval down to his cock. Arthur couldn't remember ever bringing home anyone quite so lovely. He reached over the nightstand to retrieve the lube and the pack of condoms. He took Alfred's swollen length, massaging the smooth, stiff skin, feeling how it swelled between his fingers. He did a little trick with his hand that dragged gasps from Alfred's mouth, a well-loved symphony that Arthur never tired of. He rolled the condom over Alfred's arousal before warming the lube between his fingers as they disappeared behind him.

Alfred took the time to look about the studio apartment while Arthur prepared himself. There was an empty canvas in the corner. Every detail of the eclectic space screamed that this man was probably one of those 'tortured starving artists' types. The thought made him grin.

Arthur growled before smacking him lightly against his arm, getting Alfred's attention once more, not looking happy that his one-night-stand was apparently easily distracted. "Are you a virgin?"

Alfred gaped a little. "What? No—I'm not," He'd only ever been with women. Most of them one night stands that he secretly hoped would become more. This, however; was his first time with a guy.

Arthur chuckled. "Just enthusiastic, then? I can handle that," he said. And with that, he moved forward, raising himself above Alfred's cock before sliding slowly down, sinking into him leisurely until he was completely enveloped in heat and tightness. It took every thread of self-restraint for Alfred not to not start moving. It was rougher and tighter, different than being inside a woman—almost too tight, but the warmth was everywhere. Arthur was everywhere.

Arthur's eyelids closed briefly at the sensation. His breath hitched as he experimentally rotated his hips. Sharp sparks of pain followed until he found the correct angle, rubbing the front of the inserted length languidly against that spot that would make this all worth it. Knowing himself quite well, he found it quickly. Arthur groaned, languishing in the intruding pain mixed with flashes of bright pleasure.

Alfred's eyes were electric with need as they connected with his. They both exhaled as Arthur raised himself and moved back down, sliding smoothly. Alfred's hands came to rest on the man's hips above him as he continued to slowly ride him. Eyes were drawn to how Arthur's pale thighs flex with the movement as he took control; watched as his knees dug into the mattress. Arthur's palm flattened against Alfred's chest as he found a comfortable rhythm. Green eyes shaded with pleasure as he moved quickly, pushing Alfred deeper and harder into himself.

Alfred could only tighten and try not to wriggle too much beneath him. Whenever he tried to push back, he only managed to throw off the vigorous rhythm that Arthur had created, so he remained somewhat still as the familiar fire was ignited between his legs and spread through his veins, reaching every part of himself. His hands pressed desperately into Arthur's sides, fingerprints burning into his skin as his thumbs caressed his hipbones.

Arthur released a low, throaty moan when he felt the familiar desperation approach. He looked down at his partner, realizing that Alfred looked ever so lovely when he was being fucked—with his colored cheeks, lust soaked eyes searching to connect with his, and sweat sheened skin as it slid against his.

Arthur adopted a frenzied pace in that moment, riding Alfred with reckless abandon. Breath now came in short pants as his hips continued to crash against the man's. Movement became frantic to the point where they felt like they couldn't move fast enough.

The harsh peak before orgasm took Arthur by surprise and he made a few desperate noises before allowing himself to fall over the edge. He came with a loud, scratchy cry, his fingers digging into the sheets on each side of Alfred; the beautiful rigidity overtaking his body as he spilled between them. Alfred, then, took the lead, his hands probably bruising Arthur as he thrusted up into that pulsing heat, seeking his own pleasure as he fucked him through the contractions, prolonging them as they gradually faded.

Arthur squeezed his thighs to help Alfred along, groaning low as sweaty lips pressed against Alfred's ear as he continued to thrust. A long, wet orgasm was coiling in Alfred and he was frantic to release it. It only took a few hard thrusts and one more swivel of Arthur's hips before Alfred spilled into him with a loud cry; waves of sharp pleasure crashing over his body. His legs were shaking.

A delirious heat rested over them, sinking deep into their liquid warm bones. Arthur moved, allowing Alfred's softening length to slip out of him, making a slick noise; wetness leaked from his wonderfully abused arse. Before he could retreat, Alfred pulled him in for another kiss, this one warm, slow, and deliberate.

Arthur stiffened against it, but his post-sex saturated mind relented, moving his lips and eventually opening his mouth to Alfred's wandering tongue, brushing and caressing against his. This was unlike previous kisses that were rough and hard—there was an unexpected tenderness to it that Arthur both hated and craved.

Alfred's fingers were touching Arthur's skin, up his back and down his sides, raising shivers. This one was a cuddler. He knew that he shouldn't allow it, but eventually he rested his tired limbs over Alfred's body, their skin sticking together, greedily soaking up the affection that was being offered.

It was a few hours later after drifting off to sleep that Alfred slowly opened his lids. He was in the same position, except there was a towel over him, probably used to wipe the semen. Glancing over, he noticed Arthur sitting at the foot of the bed, wearing only his trousers, and staring out his studio window, nursing a half-finished cigarette.

Alfred shifted, the movement alerting Arthur. He only spared him a small glance before looking once more out the window with a steady exhale of smoke.

"I trust you can find your way back." Arthur's voice was flat.

"Oh." Alfred began to stir. Something sticky and unpleasant congealed in his stomach as he moved his feet to the floor. He cleared his voice a little before speaking, trying to sound casual despite the sharp tension resting in his shoulders. "I thought I might stay a little longer, you know, if that's cool?"

Alfred _wanted_ to see him again. He didn't want this to be just another fuck—like every other had been before him. He wanted something that went beyond tomorrow.

Arthur really looked at him this time; his eyes widened, an expression of disbelief. It almost looked like an affirmative… almost like an okay… but his eyes soon lost that hopeful look and were shaded once more with something else, something stronger. He averted his eyes.

"Don't be foolish." His tone left no room for argument.

As quietly as he could, Alfred got to his feet and pulled on his clothes, walking across the room to retrieve them, his eyes downcast. It took only a little longer to find where his glasses had been cast aside, probably having been knocked off in his haste to peel off his shirt. He left, soundlessly shutting the door behind him.

Walking a despondent pace through the hallways, Alfred hearing the muffled voices of the tenants in that downtrodden apartment complex. He crossed the landing, casting a glance at the wall that he had pushed Arthur up against. Everything had been only a pleasured blur and now he was waking from it.

Walking into the December chill, he knew that he would have to call a cab to get back to his dorm. He pitched a glance over his shoulder, wondering which of the windows happened to be Arthur's. An idea came to him, and a slow smile spread across his features.

He had only been rejected once. There was always tomorrow.

Walking further down the street at a brisker pace as he shoved his fists into his pockets, he felt a little lighter, still occasionally looking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the forlorn building as it gradually faded from sight.

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End file.
